The Summer of Operation Reparo
by CarolineIsThine
Summary: Takes place directly after the Second Wizarding War. The members of Dumbledore's Army spend the summer fixing the damage to both the school... and each other. A story dealing with the aftermath of war and the road to recovery.
1. The Return of Dumbledore's Army

Many thanks to my awesome beta, njty9101!

**The Summer of Operation Reparo  
**

The Return of Dumbledore's Army

_Dean Thomas is walking down the deserted streets of Knockturn Alley as slowly as he possibly can; eyes darting around to all sides, wand drawn. Although he has only visited this street once before – Seamus had dared him in fourth year to do it – he cannot reconcile this empty alleyway with the frightening, bustling place from his memories. Gone are the Dragon's Blood bars, the Dark Arts shops, and the hollow-eyed addicts pleading with the street dealers to "jus' gimme another chance, look, I'll pay you back double "- before furtively pocketing their foul-looking vials of potion. Gone are the heavily made-up witches in the windows, strutting in stilettos and leather – a few of them were even wearing what looked to Deanlike highly modified Hogwarts uniforms along with their come-hither stares. The shop windows are boarded up, and it does not seem as though there is another living soul in the world._

_ "Lumos," says Dean, as quietly as he can. He sweeps the area around him with his wand, training the light on the darkest corners of the street. He is satisfied that nothing will jump out at him. "Nox." The light goes out._

_ He thinks his best bet is to Apparate to Hogsmeade from here, and it is as he is closing his eyes to concentrate on his destination that he hears it: The crunch of leaves; the sound of footsteps. They are coming unmistakably in his direction. _

_ At first, Dean does not panic. He will have time to Apparate if he stays focused. However, despite his best efforts to concentrate, he is staying firmly in one spot. Again and again he tries to Apparate –willing himself desperately to move - and each time he fails. The panic is starting to build now. He opens his eyes and it is all he can do not to scream:_

_ Three masked Death Eaters are advancing, wands pointed directly at his chest. _

_ Dean prepares to draw his own wand – at least he'll die fighting – and with a sick swoop of fear he notices that his wand is not in his hand. _

_ No. NO. Not again. NOT again. Dean fumbles with his robes, glances on the ground – did he drop it - ? He can't see it anywhere. Through the terror, Dean notes that the Death Eaters have not said a single word to him, which makes this almost worse in a way. _

_ What are they doing? Where the FUCK was his wand!_

_ The Death Eater in the center steps forward, his mask glinting silver in the moonlight. He raises his wand. _

_ "No," gasps Dean raggedly, "no." He lifts his arm to shield himself – useless, he knows – and has a split second to think to himself: Not like this, not like this, please not like this before he hears the inevitable shout:__ "_**AVADA KEDAV-"**

_These are the last words he hears…_

**000000**

…before he wakes up.

By the time Dean comes to his senses, he is sitting bolt upright (or at least as upright as one could be in a hammock that was hanging from twenty feet in the air), he is breathing harshly, and he is covered in sweat. It takes him several moments to orient himself to his surroundings. He sucks in a deep, shaky breath and hopes that he hasn't woken anyone. In all honesty, he doubts it. At least two or three people a night have woken up screaming since Dumbledore's Army has congregated at Hogwarts six weeks ago. Everyone has learned to sleep through the others' night terrors by now – and strange though it seems, Dean has been sleeping far better here than he did during the month he'd been at home with his mother and siblings.

As Dean lays back in his red hammock, he mulls over the turn of events that have brought him and the 27 other young wizards and witches with him to this place – and to this point.

The war has not been the end of it – no, not by half. With Europe's most feared wizard destroyed, the magical community now has the daunting task of rebuilding. The Ministry has been in shambles, with no one knowing who is in charge; St. Mungo's has been overflowing to the point that Madam Pomfrey has had to fill up the Hogwarts Infirmary with injured patients; wizards and witches who had fought for Voldemort are protesting their innocence using every defense under the sun. Azkaban is overflowing, but the Dementors have long since abandoned the prison. Relatives – both muggle and magical - are searching desperately for their missing loved ones. Magical Britain is in chaos.

To add to all of this, Minerva McGonagall, current Headmistress of Hogwarts, announced gravely six weeks ago over the wizarding wireless that the school would be unable to open the following year. She had been distraught, but with the magical community in such an uproar and with so much to be done to ready the school for new students, she felt that she had no alternative – but as it turned out, she was wrong.

No one had seen Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world, since the Final Battle. Dean was close enough to his "inner circle" (i.e. Ginny, with whom – despite their falling out - he still kept in touch) to know that he had been holed up at Grimmauld Place for three straight weeks, mourning the loss of his friends and hiding from the ravenous press. But the day the announcement was made, he showed up at the Headmistress' Office and informed her in no uncertain terms that Hogwarts would reopen in the fall – he, Harry, would see to it personally. Professor McGonagall was touched by his gallant offer, but was concerned (as usual) by his thick-headedness.

Having Harry Potter on your side was certainly an asset – but would it be enough? He stood there in her office, the set of his mouth informing her that he meant _every_ word he said, removed his D.A. coin from his pocket, and Activated it.

And they came.

It took a few days for them all to assemble – to pack, plan, and say their good-byes. But they came. And in those few days, Hermione Granger had done something no one – not even Hermione – really thought she could do.

She fixed the Room of Requirement. True, the room was still slightly singed in some spots; true, there was an eight-foot section of the room that was simply charred blackness and probably always would be; true, the room still smelled a bit like smoldering ashes. But she had done it.

The room had provided beautifully for the students – the dormitories had been absolutely destroyed and some of the D.A. found it too painful to return to their former living quarters, anyway.

In the room are 28 hammocks, suspended from the ceiling. Next to each hammock, also floating quite high, is a small chest of drawers containing their clothes, toiletries, and in Hermione's case many books. Folded up under the hammocks are rope ladders that descend and ascend for each occupant as needed. Each hammock has been equipped (also thanks to Hermione) with a Balancing Charm and a Protective Charm to keep the hammocks from tipping over and to keep the students from falling out. The hammocks are clustered in five areas: the center of the room and in each of the four corners. In the center of the room are four jewel-red hammocks trimmed in gold: one each for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

In Dean's corner there are two rows of five hammocks, all red and trimmed with gold. The closest row to the wall holds: Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown. The outside row held: George Weasley (who sleeps there only occasionally, he is staying in his Diagon Alley flat tonight), Lee Jordan, Neville Longbottom, himself, and Dean's best friend Seamus Finnegan.

The corner of the room adjacent to Dean holds four hammocks, which are yellow trimmed in black. Four Hufflepuffs are clustered there: Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

The corner of the room diagonal to the Gryffindors is the Ravenclaw corner. Suspended from the ceiling are six blue hammocks trimmed with bronze, in which sleep: Cho Chang, Padma Patil, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, and – slightly apart from her Housemates – Luna Lovegood. Dean lets his eyes wander to the corner across from the Gryffindor corner and shakes his head in surprise for at least the twentieth time: Hanging there are four green hammocks trimmed in silver – the Slytherin corner.

No one had been more surprised than Harry when Theo Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Adrian Pucey, and Tracey Davis had shown up to help rebuild Hogwarts.

No one had been _less _surprised than the Slytherins when Harry had told the lot of them to bugger off.

No one had been _more_ surprised than Harry when Hermione told Harry off for being an unforgiving, unprincipled git and told _him _where he could stick his wand.

"_None_ of these four participated in the battle, Harry. Please tell me how we are supposed to achieve any semblance of school unity – let alone harmony in the wizarding world – if we're not willing to give _everyone_ a chance?"

And so they were given a chance, and upon taking it, the four Slytherins proceeded to prove themselves admirably.

The 28 of them had grown immeasurably close these past six weeks – and there were still another six to go – before they completed their task. What task?

_Operation Reparo._

**0000000**

It had been George's idea to call it Operation Reparo, and everyone had readily agreed – it felt like the very least they could do. George had barely spoken a word since Fred's death. He had altered to the point where he was unrecognizable. His hair was just as red, and his freckles had changed in neither number nor hue, but everything about him was different. His posture, his gait, his eyes, his face. He walked as if he were a hundred years old. His eyes were dead and hollow. Seeing an unsmiling, _solo _Weasley twin felt horribly wrong; it went completely against the laws of magic and nature.

Dean cannot begin to fathom the depths of George's loss: He feels that he would die if any harm came to his sisters. How could he move on? And he has spent so much time apart from them; he felt it must be a thousand times worse for George, who had barely left Fred's side.

Ron had told him that Operation Reparo was bringing him out of his shell, giving him something to focus on. It does seem that George is throwing himself into his work – and there is _certainly_ enough work to be done.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a hazardous, tumultuous wreck. There is hardly a section of the school that does not need major repairs. Not to mention the fact that the student body, when it returned, will no doubt be in complete disarray. Professor McGonagall has been so busy trying to convince the Board of Governors to allow the school to reopen that she has not had the time to see to the necessary changes herself. The situation being what it was, she did the next best thing:

She left Hermione Granger in charge. And Hermione, being who she was, proceeded to do what she did best: mix her work ethic, idealism, intellect, and her innate compassion together to form a bloody brilliant plan.

She had divided the twenty-eight of them into nine small groups and given them each a set of objectives designed to restore Hogwarts to its former glory – and if all of the objectives worked, she had no doubt that it would be even better than it had been before.

She had gathered the D. A. to her and handed each of them a list which read as follows:

**Curse-breaking Squad** – _Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley_

**Reconstruction Squad ****– **

**Sub-Group A** – _Michael__Corner, Katie Bell, Justin Finch-Fletchley_: **Kitchens, Great Hall, Grand Staircase**

** Sub-Group B – **_Adrian Pucey, Angelina Johnson, Cho Chang_**: Common Rooms, Bathrooms, and Dormitories**

** Sub-Group C – **_Padma Patil, Alicia Spinnet, Tracey Davis_**: Hallways and Classrooms**

**Sub-Group D – **_Lee Jordan, Neville Longbottom, Millicent Bulstrode: _**Outside grounds, (including Herbology Greenhouse and Quidditch Pitch)**

** Sub-Group E- **_George Weasley, Anthony Goldstein, Parvati Patil_**: Entranceways and Courtyards**

**Inter-House Unity Squad – ** _Theo Nott,_ _Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Lavender Brown_

**Remembrance Squad – **_Ernie Macmillan, Seamus Finnegan, Hannah Abbott_

**Aesthetics Squad - ** _Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood_

Hermione held up a hand, forestalling their inevitable questions. "First off," she said, "the groups are absolutely non-negotiable. _Non-negotiable_. As in, don't even bother asking. There is a reason that I divided you up the way I did, and I ask that you respect that. Secondly, I ask that you give me a moment to explain what each group – or sub-group – is to do."

All eyes were on her. She took a deep breath.

"First off, as should be obvious, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and I will be concentrating on de-activating all of the left-over curses, jinxes, and hexes from every area of the school. Many of the Death Eaters cast "time-sensitive" spells, or "motion-sensor" spells – not unlike muggle landmines in that they can be "tripped" and activated. There are also hidden portkeys designed to transport the user to Malfoy Manor or Little Hangleton. First, we'll do a sweep of the area and de-activate anything we find. Then we will call in professional curse-breaker Bill Weasley, who will do a thorough check of his own and/or assist us in identifying the more obscure dark spells." She paused briefly.

"So that's us. The Reconstruction Squad – which as you can see is broken up into five sections – will be responsible for cleaning and rebuilding their assigned area of purveyance." She smiled wanly. "This is not the most glamorous job, but it is absolutely crucial – students cannot come back to Hogwarts unless this is done. Most of the areas are fixable, but some have been destroyed to the point where they'll need to be rebuilt. You'll be responsible for drafting the floor plans and magically constructing the new areas under the guidance of Professor Flitwick, who will be visiting with each group daily."

Hermione squared her shoulders. "The Inter-House Unity Squad is critical to our success – I cannot stress this enough. As you can see, I have assigned four of you to this squad: one representing each House. I want you four to come up with ways in which we can build school spirit, not just House spirit." Hermione's keen, brown eyes looked out over the crowd and sought out… Theodore Nott's.

"Theo," she said tentatively, "I wanted to thank you for coming, and I also want to let you know that I think what you'll have to say as a member of this Squad should be taken very seriously by the others. The worst thing that could happen to this school is the other three houses making Slytherins feel like second-class citizens. It will do to this school what the Death Eaters never could: rip the school to shreds from the inside out. We need it understood that we do NOT judge anyone by their parents: whether their parents were die-hard Voldemort supporters or whether their parents don't possess a drop of magical blood. I am sure that the four of you will come up with some splendid ideas. Professor Slughorn will be overseeing your progress."

Now Hermione bit her lip – to keep it from trembling, thought Dean. "The Remembrance Squad," she said, "will be in charge of making certain that the memories of those who died – what they loved, what they fought for – live on. Professor Vector has agreed to assist you, although she can only be at the school once or twice a week. You may come up with your own ideas, but as a starting point I feel that it would be beneficial to do the following things: ensure perpetual care for the fallen students' gravesites, establish scholarships in the names of those who died, and provide scholarships to those students who have lost a sibling in the war. We should also ensure that the school is equipped to accommodate any students who have sustained permanent injuries – and I also think we should provide counseling services to those who feel they need it. You will also be working a bit with Dean and Luna because…"

Her eyes had sought out his. "Dean, I'm sure you've noticed that I placed you on the Aesthetics Squad." Her face flushed slightly. "I guess it's a bit much to call it a proper _squad_, but the tasks I have for you and Luna are very important. I would like you to make Hogwarts look as beautiful as it once did. The Reconstruction Squad will be gutting many of the areas of the school and rebuilding walls and windows and such. They won't have time to put in statues or artwork. So many of the portraits have been destroyed – we'll need to remove them and get new ones. And," she said, her eyes searching for and finding Luna's, "you'll be working with the Remembrance Squad, because I would like the two of you to create a Hogwarts War Memorial."


	2. Unanswered Questions

Chapter Two – Unanswered Questions

"…and Daddy's already started construction on our new home, but it's taking rather longer than expected because obviously he can only use building materials that have been purified with the Whippling Whistlebird's saliva. It's one of the few substances that are known to repel Nargles. There are other substances, but they're not legal for importation because of the Ministry conspiracy against…"

Dean and Luna are strolling leisurely along a path by the Lake, watching the Giant Squid wave its tentacles lazily in the warm summer breeze. Luna is talking about... well, the things that Luna usually talks about and Dean is reveling in the stillness of everything around them.

It is embarrassing now for him to think that when he had first gotten his assignment from Hermione he had been disappointed. He was grateful that Hermione admired his skills as an artist - something he himself is not all that confident about - but the idea of partnering Luna had upset him a bit.

It wasn't that Dean didn't like Luna. Honestly, that wasn't it. For months on end they had only each other for company - and during some very dark times indeed. He has become fonder of the odd Ravenclaw witch than he even cares to admit, but the problem, as he had seen it, was Seamus.

He had missed his friend indescribably over the year. He had missed everything about Hogwarts, but Seamus most of all; and when the dust had cleared and The Battle was over, it seemed like everything had changed.

The students who had stayed at Hogwarts seemed to have this tight, impenetrable bond with one another – having to fight for your lives and band against a common enemy will do that, he supposed. It had not escaped his notice that Seamus, Ernie, and Hannah had developed a particularly strong friendship, and well, yeah, he could admit to being a little jealous.

It wasn't just that they stuck close together, although they did. Dean had asked Seamus to fill him in on the goings-on at Hogwarts, and he, Ernie, and Hannah had told the tale…together. _Together_, together. They had finished each other's sentences, exchanged impossibly swift and knowing glances with one another, laughed gleefully at inside jokes. This was exactly what talking to Harry, Ron, and Hermione was like, and those three seemed as though they could communicate telepathically through raised eyebrows and imperceptible facial expressions. It was like talking to one person in three bodies.

When Harry had called back the D.A. members, Dean had been excited; he had been hoping that the summer would lessen the feeling of isolation he had felt toward his classmates. Finding out that he and Luna would – once again – be off by themselves and separated from everyone…

Seven weeks into the summer, though, and Dean can honestly admit that is the best he's ever had.

He is doing what he loves best – artwork – and hardly a day has passed that he and Luna haven't been working alongside another group. This past week they have been repairing the statues in the Great Hall and have had a grand old time laughing and gossiping with Katie, Justin, and Michael.

Dinner is a raucous affair, nearly always held outside. Music is usually blasting on the Wizarding Wireless, impromptu Quidditch matches and Exploding Snap tournaments are held, mad amounts of snogging occur, and it is possible to forget that these same school grounds only months ago were strewn with bodies, some of them their classmates and friends.

Dean and Seamus' friendship has strengthened. Seamus' hammock is next to his and consequently the two friends have had many whispered conversations, filling each other in on their time apart and talking about their post-Hogwarts plans. And to top it all off, spending time with Luna Lovegood has been more comforting that Dean had ever thought it would be.

Luna, more than any of them, seems untouched by the events of the war. Although she has been through her share of horror and fought in the same hellish battle that they all have, her general outlook is so serene and her countenance so unchanged that people seek out her company much more than they ever have. She is blossoming under all the positive attention she is receiving and she seems to be enjoying her summer as much as Dean.

Luna told Dean that morning that she wanted to speak with him alone and he had suggested that they head for the Lake. He hasn't been paying particular attention to her chatter – it is usually not very interesting, and it is always hard to follow – but her gentle lilt and dreamy voice are soothing and by now very familiar.

"…but of course I wrote to the science editor of the _Daily Prophet_ and reminded him that despite the fact that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack is a highly elusive animal there have still been thirty-six reported sightings in the last five years alone across three continents, you know, and-"

"Hey, Luna?" asks Dean, cutting her off abruptly. He isn't trying to be rude, but Luna can – as he well knows – go on this vain for several more hours if given the chance.

Luna shakes back her light-colored mane of hair and looks up at Dean. "Oh, hello." She smiles at him as though she is pleasantly surprised to see him standing next to her.

"It's just – you said you had something to tell me - ?"

Her grey eyes become less dreamy, more solemn. She reaches out and catches his hand with her own. "Dean," she says, "I want to talk to you about the War Memorial."

Dean frowns. "I thought you liked my design."

Luna's eyes widen further until they are dark, silvery-grey pools. "I do," she insisted. "I really do. But there might be a problem. We haven't included any Slytherins, you see."

Dean's heart skips several beats. "You're not – please tell me you're not saying we should include the names of the _Death Eaters_ on this?"

Luna's hands twist together nervously. "I don't exactly _want_ to. But, you know, a lot of the Slytherin students lost parents and other relatives. And Hermione said…?"

Dean sort of sees what she means. But – "Look, there's no way people are going to be okay with this. We can't just… put their names down next to people like Professor Lupin or Fred Weasley."

"No, I suppose not," she says, her voice once more rather dreamy. "But I thought maybe I should bring it up. I'll drink an infusion of Gurdyroots tomorrow morning and see if an idea finds me." She lowers her voice. "Ideas wander around, you know, and usually they fly up people's nostrils but _sometimes_ we get lucky and they slip in through our ears and get to our brains."

Dean isn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused when she says these mad things. He settles for rolling his eyes.

Luna doesn't seem to notice either way. They walk back to the castle in companionable silence – or at least until they are about half-way back. Dean hears Luna inhale rapidly and he prepares himself for another diatribe on the Ministry or an explanation of the Blibbering Humdingers' hibernation cycle, so he is quite surprised when she cocks her head at him quizzically and asks in a fairly normal tone of voice:

"So how are things between you and Seamus? Have you been able to catch up?"

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Uh…yeah, mostly."

Luna smiles happily. "I'm really happy for you. I know you missed him a lot last year."

"Mmm," he says, non-committal.

"I expect you were jealous of Ernie and Hannah when you saw how close they all were."

Dean huffs. Is Luna_ that_ perceptive or is he just way too obvious?

"It must have been hard to be apart from him – not just apart, but obviously you couldn't even owl each other or get messages to one another and you didn't even really know if the other was alive"-

"Luna," says Dean, getting a headache all of a sudden, "it was the same way for you. You couldn't contact any of your friends because you were trapped in a basement dungeon. Surely it took some time for you all to get reacquainted."She looks momentarily startled, but then smiles at Dean kindly and pats his arm. "Yes, of course, but _I_ don't fancy any of them the way you fancy Seamus, so… oh, we're here!" she cries out merrily, running up the castle's front steps to greet Ginny Weasley and leaving a spluttering, astonished young man protesting loudly behind her.

**0000000000**

It is late that same night and Dean cannot sleep for the life of him. He tightens his hand around his wand, which he now sleeps with every night. Ever since being captured – going without a wand for so long – he needs it to be near him at all times. He's noticed that most of the D.A. have slight affectations like this: Hermione keeps her Beaded Bag fully packed and with her almost constantly. Ron, whom Dean suspects was separated from the other two at some point, is always checking to see that they are there. He'll look up suddenly during dinner or even in the middle of the night, scan the room, and relax only when he's seen first Harry, then Hermione. Neville and Seamus both subconsciously check for hiding spots in every room and Seamus in particular seems to be bothered by large, open spaces. Harry mentally plots escape routes from wherever he is. It is more comfortable for all of them to be around people who understand these strange habits.

Luna shows none of the same symptoms as the others, which Dean can't begin to understand. She is never one of the people who wake up screaming in the middle of the night. It is too funny, really: _Loony Lovegood_ is the sanest one of them all. She – she -

She was _bang_ out of order for what she said today, that's what, thinks Dean angily. Despite being wrong, she had no right to – to just say something like that out in the open.

His own thoughts turn traitor. _Is she wrong, though? Really?_

Dean turns over and looks at Seamus, who is sleeping. A couple strands of sandy hair have fallen in front of his eyes. His breathing is slow and even. His chest is bare. Could it be that-?

Well, Dean is not in Gryffindor for nothing. He is going to confront these intrusive thoughts head on.

He screws his eyes shut and pictures kissing Seamus, pictures brushing his fingers lightly over Seamus' freckled shoulders, breathing in his scent, and running his hands through his sandy hair and - _wow. Just wow. _His body is definitely reacting positively to this imagery.

Desperate to know the answer, he conjures up a memory of kissing Ginny, one of the three girls he has ever snogged. He pictures her beautiful red waves cascading down her face and that fierce blazing look in her eyes and her breasts rubbing against his chest as she twines her arms around his neck and-

All right, apparently girls still do it for him, too. No change there.

Dean spends all night wrestling with his thoughts. He replays the conversation between himself and Luna over and over again and shortly before dawn, he comes to a conclusion.


	3. The Earth Spins On An Axis

Chapter Three – The Earth Spins On An Axis

Breakfast is held in the mostly-finished Great Hall. Dean is sitting at the Hufflepuff Table along with Seamus, Ernie, Hannah, Justin, Susan, and Theo. To everyone's surprise, Susan Bones and Theo Nott have become fast friends working on the Inter-House Unity Squad together. Susan's bright blue eyes are flushed with pleasure as she updates her friends on the squad's progress.

"…and so Lavender was saying to me that it's a shame that other students won't get to have a Yule Ball the way we did. And then I thought, well, what if we have a Halloween Ball or a Winter Ball? Certain kinds of dances have traditions associated with them and I thought maybe it could be something like a Sadie Hawkins dance. Except instead of having the girls ask the boys, why not have students ask members of other houses? That could be a requirement to attend."

Theo rolls his eyes. "Let me just take this opportunity to tell you – yet again – that you won't have a single bloody Slytherin show up."

Susan swats Theo's arm lightly. "Hush. You're crushing my spirits. And anyway, you're utterly wrong about that. At_ least _the Slytherin girls will show up. Prejudiced or not, no girl's going to miss the opportunity to attend a formal dance."

Theo sighs but doesn't press the issue.

Ernie and Seamus exchange amused looks and Dean tries not to flinch at the easy camaraderie that has sprung up between them.

"Just do yourself a favor and agree with her, mate," says Seamus breezily.

"Did Professor Slughorn think it was a good idea?" asks Hannah, smiling at Susan.

"Oh, yes," beams Susan. "We're planning the details now. In fact we're going to be meeting in about fifteen minutes up in the-"

A voice cuts in. "Excuse me– Hannah?" Dean glances up along with the rest of the table to see Neville Longbottom tapping Hannah lightly on the shoulder.

Hannah's face lights up. "Yes, Neville? How are you?"

Dean can hardly reconcile this Neville – this tall, confident, battle-scarred bloke – with the round-faced, clumsy boy he had been.

Neville stares calmly into Hannah's eyes. "Fine, thanks. Fancy a walk down to the Quidditch Pitch? My squad's working there today."

Hannah goes pink in the face. "Oh, um , I'd love to. But," – she turns to Ernie and Seamus. "Are we meeting outside today?"

Ernie and Seamus catch each other's eye. "What do you say, Seamus? Shall we let them go off and snog?"

Seamus appears slightly irritated at the thought, but finally acquiesces. "Yeah, all right – but we're only giving you a ten-minute head start and then we're coming down to the Quidditch Pitch, too. And if we see your hands anywhere they ought _not_ to be…" he glowers darkly at Neville.

Neville takes this all in stride. "Wizard's honor," he says, crossing his wand over his heart.

Hannah stands up and shakes her head in fond exasperation at Ernie and Seamus. "And to think I used to wish that I had older brothers!"

Right as Neville and Hannah stand up to leave, Luna Lovegood comes skipping (literally) over to Dean, hair streaming behind her like a golden banner.

"Dean!" she says, excitedly. "I got lucky last night! One _found_ me – it flew right into my ear canal and missed my nostril entirely! I think it may have even left a trail. Do you see anything?" and she pulls her hair up, exposing her left ear and then she angles her head so that Dean can get a good look at it.

Everyone at the table is staring at the two of them in utter shock. As accustomed to Luna's strangeness as they are, she has retained the ability to surprise them. And Dean, too, as it turns out.

"Oh, well"- he coughs uncomfortably. He shoots everyone a you-know-how-she-is look. "We'll talk about it when we get to the bridge. That's what we're touching up today, right?"

Luna smiles beatifically and reaches for his hand. "Yes! Let's go."

**000000000**

**000000000**

It is a cloudy morning, and Dean and Luna are fixing the statues that line the Hogwarts bridge. Luna is wearing a yellow-and-white sundress with a light, gauzy blue button-down shirt over top, purple socks with green stripes, and mismatched shoes. Her earrings appear to be miniature earths – and in fact as Dean looks closer, he sees that they are rotating slowly on an axis.

Her appearance is strange - but striking; so much so that Dean half-wants to paint her.

"What was your idea, anyway?" he asks her curiously, although he partially asks it to have an excuse to keep staring over at her.

She regards him seriously. "I don't think I should tell you yet. It's very unlucky to reveal grand ideas on Wednesdays."

Dean sighs. Totally maddening, trying to have a conversation with this girl.

"Surely at some point in the last several thousand years, someone has revealed an ultimately successful idea on a Wednesday," he opines crossly.

Luna smiles serenely. "No, I don't think so," she says, flourishing her wand at one of the owl statues and changing the color of its wings. "The concept of Wednesday is relatively recent, civilization-wise, and"-

Dean is annoyed now. This girl does _not_ know everything. In fact-

"." He spits out the sentence very fast, blushing.

"I'm sorry? You're speaking so fast that I can't understand you. Did you swallow a Lingua-lerp? They tend to affect the vocal cords-"

He interrupts her. "I _said_ that you were wrong yesterday about Seamus."

Luna whips her head around and looks vaguely mystified. "Was I? I'm not usually wrong about those things."

"Well, you were," he says staunchly.

There is an uncomfortable silence for several seconds.

"Don't you care about him?"

"'Course I do," he asserts indignantly.

"And you love him, don't you?'

Dean grits his teeth. Luna could not possibly understand how uncomfortable that question was for an eighteen-year-old bloke. He thinks, though, of the war. He thinks of shouts and explosions, of corpses and giant spiders, and of not knowing who was alive or dead, and-

"Yeah." If he hadn't known it before the war, he knows it now.

"And you're attracted to him?" she queries, in the same sort of tone in which she would say, "And you've already had lunch?"

Dean inhales sharply in surprise and looks at Luna who is staring back at him, her eyes silvery and luminous. _Gryffindor_, he thinks.

"Er- yeah. A bit, yeah."

"So if you love him and if you're attracted to him"-

"It doesn't mean I'm in love with him," insists Dean. And it's actually true. "I love, you know, a lot of people. I love all of my friends. And I'm …" he can't believe he is confessing all of this to her, but it feels good to get this out. " I guess I'm attracted to a lot of them, too – males and females. I used to think that I was just really perverted or something, but I think it might be – I think it might be because I've always loved painting and sketching and sculpting. My eyes are always drawn to what's attractive about people and I notice things about them that others don't and…" He sounds like a total ponce. "Look." He shakes his head. "Caring about someone and being attracted to someone – it doesn't have to mean that you're in love. I don't know if I've ever been in love." Once he'd thought – maybe – with Ginny. But obviously not.

His heart is pounding now. What on earth has just come over him?

Luna has not moved during his whole outburst, but now she is ducking her head shyly and flicking her eyes up. He can barely make out the silver orbs behind her curtain of hair.

"I have the opposite problem," she says finally.

Dean is thoroughly bewildered. "What d'you mean?"

"I fall in love with everyone."

He is lost now, in the ocean. He does not know how to bring this conversation back to shore. He stands still and waits.

"Well," she amends. "Not everyone. Just my friends. Just the people I care about. I'm in love with them."

Dean swallows, his voice uncertain when he speaks. "You mean, like – like Harry?"

She nods. "Yes, I'm in love with Harry."

He is still lost. "Ron? Neville?"

"Yes. Both of them."

"Er – Ginny?" he asks.

Luna clasps her hands together almost as if praying. Her voice is alive and electric. "I think I might love Ginny more than anyone."

Dean is stunned by this revelation, even if he doesn't quite understand it. Meanwhile, as he is struggling to grasp what it means, his brain is flooded with images – Ginny and Luna, red curls twisting around gold locks, freckles splashing against cream-white skin. He wants to draw it. He wants to see it. He really_, really_ wants to go away and wank in peace but he started this conversation and he feels obligated to see it through.

"You do? But- but why-? How - ?"

She smiles, utterly composed. "I'm in love with them, but I'm not necessarily _attracted_ to them. I suppose if I really tried I could be, but they're all so happy with other people that there doesn't seem to be much point."

Dean sort of gets it. He gets it enough, anyway. "You don't make it sound like much of a problem."

Luna looks thoughtful. "Sometimes it's not, I suppose. And sometimes it is. And now I have a question for you, Dean Thomas."

Dean shrugs. "Ask away." Clearly he has no defenses left against this girl.

"You said earlier that you love your friends." She traces the ground with her foot, not looking at him. "Am I your friend?"

Dean realizes at once that she is not asking _this._ She is asking the other thing. "Yeah," he says, reluctantly but truthfully." "Yeah, I reckon you are."

Luna smiles serenely up at Dean, her hair blowing in the light summer breeze.

He regards her curiously for a moment. "You said you're in love with your friends…" Dean takes a deep breath and plunges off the cliff. "Am I your friend?"

Luna is as solemn as he has ever seen her. Then she very slowly shakes her head no.

Dean is stunned. "What? Why not?" he blurts out. "After all we've been through,"-

"I like you," she says sincerely, cutting him off. "I do. But all the time we've spent together is because we've been _forced_ to be. We were brought to Malfoy Manor. We were both taken to Shell Cottage. We were both assigned the same task by Hermione, and you can't pretend to me that you were happy about it. When we're back at the school, you can't wait to be rid of me. I know I embarrass you and…" her face flushes pink "…and I'm even sorry about it. But I have feelings, too, you know. I can see you rolling your eyes or yawning when I talk and I notice the looks you give to people when I say something that you think is unusual." Her voice becomes softer, more wistful. "It's a bit unkind, I think."

Dean's head is spinning and his heart has sunk to below his ribcage. He feels like a miserable, guilty git. This is no kind of defense whatsoever – he hates himself even as he thinks it – but it really hadn't occurred to him that she could _understand_. She has always seemed so oblivious. Like a very young child or a pet. It occurs to him now, though, that she is a bloody _Ravenclaw _and that he is a bloody _idiot. _

How to fix it? The truth. "I care about you, Luna. If I didn't care about you, then I wouldn't be sorry that I've hurt you so badly. I really am so sorry."

"Are you?"

He reaches for her, puts his left hand gently on her shoulder, and tips her chin up so that she is looking into his eyes. "Yeah. And I won't do it again. Do you believe me?"

Luna shifts a bit, and she cocks her head to the side, observing him like one of her magical creature specimens.

"Yes, Dean," she says finally. The heat changes between them. Dean lets both of his hands slide slowly down her back and he draws her into an embrace, her face pressed tightly against his chest. The words are out before he knows he's going to say them:

"I want to - can I - do you want me to kiss you?"

Luna tilts her head up and nods. Dean watches her earrings swirl slowly. "I want you to, Dean. I don't know if you should, though. I don't know if you can just tell me"-

"I'll show you," he says, pulling back from her. He knows instinctively what he has to do; knows what he has to give up in order to make her understand. "I'll show you," he repeats.

He breaks away from Luna entirely and begins taking several steps backward, eyes still trained on her.

Her eyes are wide and uncomprehending, for which he doesn't exactly blame her.

Dean gets nearly half the length of the bridge before he does it. He slowly bends down to his knees, and with trembling fingers he sets his wand down on the ground, releases it, stands up, and walks toward her without looking back at it.

A thousand times his mind shouts at him to turn back around – what if something happened to it? – what if they were attacked? – what if it's not there when he gets back? This is the farthest he has been from his wand since he got it months ago. He ignores his fears, and keeps walking toward Luna, her slender form anchoring him, drawing him in closer.

Luna, more than anyone, understands what he has just done. She had been with him when he was wandless at the Manor, at Shell Cottage, and at the Battle. _Months_ without one. Each step away from the wand is more difficult than the last. When he reaches her, she looks frightened, her eyes darting from the spot on the bridge where he'd left the wand and back to him.

Dean puts his hands on her waist and Luna reaches up to grasp his shoulders. She is not looking at him, though. She is looking off to the side nervously.

"You know," she says, in what he thinks is her attempt at a casual tone of voice, "kisses are often very unlucky on the Wednesday before the full moon, especially when the sunlight"-

"_Luna_." His voice is rich with fond exasperation.

"Well, I think I may have seen a Blibbering Humdinger and you know how they like to cause mischief. We should probably go."

Dean does not contradict her, but stands perfectly still gazing down at her. He knows her well enough by now. She'll sort out her feelings and clue him in eventually.

"…and this place is probably infested with nargles…" she says weakly.

Dean maintains his gaze.

Luna looks as though she is struggling with herself about something. She glances down at her feet, and her left foot toes the ground anxiously. After several seconds, her eyes snap back up to meet his. She squares her shoulders stoically and takes a deep breath. "I've never kissed anyone before and I expect I'll be rubbish at it."

Dean stares at her for a long moment. "No," he says finally. "You won't be."And with that he pulls her up to meet him and kisses her as best he can. It _is_ a bit awkward at first - their noses bump into each other once or twice and his body is bent strangely. He is over a foot taller, being about six-foot-two inches tall compared to Luna's five foot even.

He decides to throw caution to the wind. He steers them toward one of the bridge's railings, not breaking the kiss, grasps her waist with his hands and hauls her up against him, her feet dangling. Far from minding, Luna twines her arms around the back of his neck and wraps her legs around his waist. She breaks apart long enough to smile serenely at him and say, "Ooh, yes, this is _much_ better, thank you," and then suddenly she is kissing him - deeply, _fiercely_ kissing him - and it is all Dean can do to stay standing. Her lips are soft and perfect, and suddenly their tongues are meeting in a blast of scorching heat that makes them both gasp and when Luna experimentally grinds her pelvis against him, Dean is lost, drowning in the taste of her and the feel of her.

It is almost too much, this dizzying sensation – her small, soft hands running through his hair and caressing his face and the back of his neck; her waist-length hair whipping in the breeze around her body and his, cloaking them both; her breasts pressed intimately against his chest. It is impossible for him to tell how long their embrace lasted – it would be pure luck if he remembers his own name at this point – and his head is spinning as Luna breaks the kiss and Dean gently lowers her to the ground.

A wide, gleeful smile stretches across her face. "I wasn't actually rubbish, was I?"

Dean is holding onto the railing for support, as his legs seem to have turned to jelly. "Merlin, _no!"_ he gasps, his grin matching hers.

"Shall we go back to the castle for lunch, then?" she asks him brightly.

He nods happily, reaching for her hand as they set off. They are about halfway there (it has taken them longer than necessary, however, as they have stopped to snog every few yards or so) when Luna remarks casually:

"I think we forgot about your wand." Dean has not thought of it since they kissed. Laughing, they run back for it. Without doubt, this has been the best day of his whole summer so far.

**000000000**

Many thanks to my beta, njty9101!


	4. Interlude: Gemini

Interlude – Gemini

"Dean Thomas?" asks Alicia Spinnet, positively agog. "With Luna Lovegood? Are you sure, Katie?"

Parvati keeps step with her fellow Gryffindor girls, listening intently to this latest bit of gossip.

"Positive," replies Katie Bell. "I saw her sitting on his lap in the Great Hall. And his arms were around her."

"Well, that's… I mean, they're rather an unusual pair, aren't they? I wouldn't have thought Luna would ever end up with someone…"

"Remotely normal?" supplies Katie.

Alicia blushes. "No." The blush turns deeper. "Well, sort of. She's just so…"

Katie raises her eyebrows. "Trust me. I know. You know, for all people make fun of her, though, she's very sweet and I think she's grown quite pretty– besides which she was a damn good fighter when it came down to it."

The statement impacts Parvati like an unexpected punch to the stomach. She hates the way the other students do this – reference that horrendous, unthinkable, god-awful night so casually_. Why_ did they keep doing this to her?

"Well," Alicia concedes, "I think it's good that he's not still mooning over Ginny. She's obviously _quite_over him - if her and Harry's inability to keep their hands off each other is any indication."

"Rather sickening, isn't it, Parvati?" asks Katie cheerfully.

Parvati is trying not to blink. Every time she shuts her eyes she sees—

"Isn't it? Parvati?"

"Yes," she replies mechanically. "If you'll excuse me."

She walks away from both of the girls, knowing full well that they are exchanging bewildered glances behind her back. She pushes the door of the castle open and breathes a sigh of relief that there is no one else in the entranceway.

Breathing easier than she has been the last few minutes, she holds her wand up, points it at herself, and performs the incantation she has been using six to eight times a day all summer:

_"Scourgify."_

All trace of sweat disappears from her body and her skin feels raw, cool, and slightly tingly.

The spell will not cleanse the horrors of that night away. But this is the next best thing.

**0000000000**

**0000000000**

For Parvati, it is cleanliness. She is not as observant of the others as Dean is; she has not noticed their affectations to any large extent. All she knows is that she will never stop feeling dirty.

_That _night. The-night-that-must-not-be-named. She cannot bear to think of those events in any sort of chronological order, and so they return to her disjointedly. In searing flashes and charred fragments.

Like-

Chasing – being chased - through trees –falling – tripping - wet ground – cold – wet - shoe stuck in mud - no time to get it - must run - feet –cold – wet - stepping on people – bodies? – stepping – running - and –

"Colin? Colin? What's happened? Are you hurt?" Pale young eyes – not dead but dying - looking at her - pale – sick - so pale - "hit with a curse, please tell Dennis that"- his mouth opening – vomit – blood - on her face - on her clothes – smellohgodthesmell -

Vomit and blood - on her bare wet feet –dead - he's dead - I'm dead – I'm dead too - I just haven't been killed yet.

Running – screaming - falling again - vomit between toes squishing -

And-

Lavender – face - blood – strips of skin hanging off her neck – screaming - tasting vomit - Death Eater hand - _Dirty Death Eater hand_ clapped over her mouth - must get away – get help – Lavender – werewolf - blood dripping from its mouth - Lavender's blood - Lavender's skin.

Wetness on her face – snot running - Wetness between her legs - so scared - urine dribbling down her legs - so scared - going to die. _Just let me. Just let me._

"_Relashio!_" comes the spell. Ernie – Neville- Seamus. She faints.

Later. Waking up in the once-great-now-broken Great Hall. Drags herself out. Around the corner.

_"Scourgify!"_ Ten times. Twenty. Not enough.

Neville finds her, her skin pink and raw and hurting but _cleansocleanfinallyclean. _He takes her wand away from her gently and she buries her face in his shoulder as he holds her, great wracking, heaving sobs erupting.

Parvati with the fresh, clean-smelling hair, and her beads and bangles and lip-reddening charms and glittery powders and floral perfumes . How can she ever be that person again? She has seen the ugliest thing in the world – Death – and it was on her skin and in her hair and it is _inside her head_. How can she ever be that person again?

**0000000000**

**0000000000**

Privately, Parvati has always thought that Hermione Granger - though undeniably smart, brave, and caring – is a bit of a twit. The girl's got brains, but she has zero understanding of people. She looks over at the two boys standing several yards away from her – a broken ginger-haired half-person and a swotty, studious, self-absorbed Ravenclaw who has _maybe_ spoken three words to her.

"I knew what I was doing when I created these groups," Hermione had said, with a toss of her bushy hair. "Just trust me. It's for the best."

Parvati shakes her head. She thinks longingly of the Inter-House Unity Squad. Lavender. Susan. _Indoors. _Away from the dirt. She could have been picked for that. Instead she's out here in the Clock Tower Courtyard, crouching on hard flagstone, industriously repairing a broken staircase.

At least George and Anthony hadn't minded repairing the courtyard gate. Their feet are on the grass. The smell of dirt makes Parvati nauseous. Just the thought that it might get on her. Or that there might be other things in the grass; things that hadn't been cleaned up yet. Harry and Ron had found part of a finger just last week. Her wand twitches. She tries to fight the urge and loses. Parvati has never been strong that way.

She raises her voice. "I'll be right back, okay?" Anthony glances up and regards her curiously but says nothing. George doesn't even look up. Parvati swallows.

As if she needs another reminder of that night. This boy is so removed from the energetic prankster known as George Weasley that she can't believe his name is still the same. Parvati has grown up knowing the Weasley family. Fred and George have always picked on her, played with her, and laughed at her. They have pulled her plaits, teased her about her boyfriends, played Exploding Snap with her, snuck Canary Creams into her coffee, begged her to snog Lavender – all the things that outrageously rude teenage boys do.

The George of six months ago would have teased her mercilessly about her frequent need to excuse herself. He and Fred would have made reference to her bladder being disproportional to the size of her breasts, or implied that she was meeting Filch for a clandestine shag. But now – nothing. She might as well be invisible.

So she trudges up the stairs, pulls open the door, closes it behind her and- "Scourgify."

She can breathe again.

To Parvati's immense surprise, when she comes back down the stairs Anthony is standing by the gate with his arms folded and a frown on his face.

"Where the hell do you go when you disappear like that? You aren't gone long enough to go to the loo."

Parvati probably would be more annoyed at his presumptuousness if she weren't so startled that he actually noticed and/or cared. She walks over to the gate, careful to stay on the edge of the grass.

"I'm not doing anything important. And certainly nothing that concerns you," she replies a trifle coolly.

Anthony continues stubbornly. "You leave _at least_ once an hour, and you always look upset right before you do. I mean, I've tried not to say anything, it's just - are you all right? Is something…the matter?"

Parvati frowns. He's not her keeper. "And if I were having a problem, I suppose I'd be telling _you_ about it."

Anthony looks so uncertain – so unlike his usual smug self - that Parvati relents.

"It's nothing, really," she replies breezily. "Girl stuff."

Anthony looks totally bewildered. "Girl stuff? Okay, I know plenty of girls. And I have a mother and a sister. They don't stop whatever they're doing ten times a day and disappear, looking horribly anxious."

Parvati sighs. This one doesn't scare easy. "It's private. But it's not a big deal, and I'm fine. I promise."

Anthony nods, but continues to look doubtful. Desperate to change the subject, Parvati says in a rush: "I didn't know you had a sister."

Every muscle in his body seems to tighten. "My personal life is _private,"_ he sneers, indisputably mocking her. "But don't worry, I'm _fine._"

Parvati is a self-absorbed girl by nature. And the events of the last year have made her retreat into herself; have made her a more private, introspective person. But it has not escaped her notice that Anthony appears pained by Parvati's innocent question.

It is as she is deciding whether or not to push the issue that she notices two more things. First, although they are arguing, she and Anthony are talking more than they ever have. Lavender has taken to calling their group the Silent Squad. Second: George is listening. It's true. He is leaning against the gate; interested eyes flicking back and forth between Anthony and Parvati. Not just politely pretending to listen. Not locked away in his mind. _Actually_ paying attention.

It is this, more than anything, that guides her course of action. "I'm… performing 'Scourgify' on myself. That's what I'm doing. Okay, Goldstein?"

Anthony frowns in confusion. "You're telling me you're… _primping?_ God, you think a lot of your looks, don't you?" He appears disgusted with her.

"No!" she practically shouts, desperate to make herself understood. "No. God, no. It's just – that night" –Anthony looks startled, but nods and George looks away from them both, biting his lip and closing his eyes. Parvati wants to do the same.

"Go on," says Anthony, with considerably less rancor.

Parvati takes a deep, hitching breath. "I was so filthy that night. There was so much…blood. So much… I was covered from head to toe in things that I can't even…" The tears spring up unexpectedly. She fights them back. "Please. I can't talk about it. Please."

She scrubs her eyes with the back of her hand and chances a glance at George, who has turned as white as a ghost and is looking queasy. He is clutching the gate for support.

Anthony's face is inscrutable. He runs a hand through his short brown hair and looks at George worriedly. His gaze finally returns to Parvati.

"Sorry. I didn't know. I didn't think."

Parvati nods. "It's okay." Nothing is okay, actually, but that's not his fault.

"I didn't mean to be such a…" he trails off, looking embarrassed. "About my sister."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He sighs. "She's a muggle. Our father's a wizard, but our mother isn't. So I guess I got the gene, but she didn't."

Parvati wrinkles her nose. "What's a gene?"

"Basically, genes determine whether or not we're muggle or magical."

"Well, that's nothing to be embarrassed about; your sister being a muggle. You can't think I'd care?"

Anthony shakes his hand. "No, none of my friends would care about that. It's just"… He looks defensive for a moment. "I just hate it. I hate that she's not one of us. She's my best friend, and there's so much of my life that I can't share with her, and vice versa, you know? And now I'm starting to feel like…was it worth it? Is it worth it being a wizard, is it worth being separated from her? After the war, I just don't know anywhere. I've seriously been considering…"

Parvati nods. "When Padma and I were Sorted into different Houses, I nearly left the school right then and there. We'd _never _been separated before. And then, at the Battle, I thought…" It is coming back to her now, flashes of it. "Someone told me, when I woke up, that they'd seen Padma earlier and that she was in terrible shape, scared out of her mind, injured, screaming her head off…" George is shaking now and Parvati walks over to him and gently guides him into a standing position.

She knows that she should stop talking, for his sake, but Parvati cannot stop the words from streaming out of her. "I was more scared than I'd been the whole damn night, and that's saying something. But then," Parvati says, voice shaking, "there was a misunderstanding, and it turned out that it hadn't been Padma who was…" She takes a deep breath. "It was _me_ that they had seen. When I found out that she was okay…" She can't go on. She is glad that George is leaning on her. She feels as though she might fall down otherwise. And they are standing on the muddy ground. It had just rained yesterday.

Anthony's voice sounds huskier than it did before. "My first day of Hogwarts was the worst day of my life. I was so excited to get my letter, but when I actually had to go to King's Cross… when I had to leave my family. When I had to leave Rachel… I felt like…"

George is trembling, eyes shut tightly. "Please…" he says, which is the first word either of them has heard him say for a few days at least.

Anthony looks horrified. "I'm sorry, mate. Here we are blathering on about our problems when"-

George puts up a shaking hand up, cutting Anthony off. "No," he says, raggedly.

Parvati watches him fight for control and pats his arm soothingly. "You're so brave."

George laughs; the bitterest, cruelest laugh she has ever heard. It sends a physical chill down her body.

"D'you suppose the Sorting Hat knew this was coming? That I'd have to be oh-so-brave because my twin brother would get his _fucking_ arse killed"-

"George!" she cries, unable to bear the rage coming from him. Was this better than him being a broken shell? She didn't know. He is silent now, but she can feel the anger flow off him. His wand is sparking slightly.

"Is – is your sister older or younger, Anthony?" she asks, trying to steer the conversation toward more navigable waters.

"She's…" Anthony trails off suddenly. When Parvati glances up at him, she finds him looking at both she and George with the utmost amazement. "…my twin."

Before Parvati can even begin to react to that statement, George falls down to the ground, taking her with him. His shoulders are shaking and he is sobbing – horrible, painful sobs that shake his whole body and leave him fighting for air.

"Oh, my God," he says, between sobs. "Oh, my God. You know. You both know." And Parvati draws his head onto her lap, brushes her fingers through his hair, and rubs her other hand softly in circles on his shoulders and back. Parvati is sprawled on the ground; the underside of her jeans are covered in mud. Somehow, though, the tears splattering onto her leg make her feel cleaner than she's felt all summer. And as she helps George, and as George helps her, she looks up at Anthony, who is standing above them and looking at the two of them with such a hang-dog expression that her heart goes out to him.

Anthony kneels down next to Parvati, putting his left hand lightly on her shoulder. _We'll fix him_, she thinks fiercely, and Anthony nods as if he's heard her. The irony, of course, was that she and Anthony – and Padma – and Rachel – knew something that no one else did. They knew what it was like to sometimes feel like half a person and they knew that George would never heal – not the way that Ron or Ginny or even Mrs. Weasley eventually would.

Parvati closes her eyes, feeling Anthony's hand on her shoulder and George's head on her knee and she draws strength from the bond between them.

She opens her eyes, staring down into the hole where George's ear should be. _No_, she thinks, _some things can't be fixed. But we can help him adapt._ She bends over, placing her lips against George's forehead gently, and feels Anthony tighten his grip on her shoulder and _damn_ Hermione Granger. _Damn her_. She had been right all along.


	5. There's No Place Like Home

There's No Place Like Home

_Dean stares at the ground as he makes his way forward, the yellow bricks glinting harshly in the sun's gaze._

_ "How many more steps do you reckon there are?" he asks, wiping sweat off his brow._

_ "Oh, for goodness' SAKE," huffs Hermione, charging ahead of him. Her sparkly red shoes are nearly blinding him. "I think if I can get a-hundred-and-twelve percent on my Charms exam I can find some stupid old wizard!"_

_ Luna jumps down from a tree behind Dean, graceful as a jungle cat. Her long hair hangs down her back; the golden mane of a lioness._

_ "What are you asking the wizard for, Hermione?" purrs Luna throatily._

_ Hermione looks startled. "Well, I'd thought I might like to go…" she trails off uncertainly._

_ "Home?" suggests Dean. _

_ Hermione glances around nervously. "That's certainly a plausible theory. But I'm not sure whether we need to go __**home**__ or - or just back to the way things were before…"_

_ Dean exhales, relief spreading through him like a balm. "Is that all, then? The way things were before? That's easy. Luna knows how to get back there."_

_ Luna, however, is climbing the nearest tree and looking less than willing to help. "I think I'll stay here, thank you," she announces, her voice small and frightened._

_ "But"- Dean is stunned. "But we need you. You know how to get there. Don't you?"_

_ Luna hangs upside down from the lowest branch. She crooks her claws in a come-hither gesture. Dean approaches her. "You __**do**__ know what I'm asking the wizard for. Don't you, Dean?"_

_ It makes no sense, but… "Courage?" he asks._

_ She nods. Her face is slowly turning red, either from shame or from hanging upside down. _

_ Dean is utterly confused now. "How can that be? You have so much of it already."_

_ "Please stop bothering her, Dean," trills a voice, clear and bell-like._

_ Dean spins around to find Ginny, lounging against a tree. Her robes are silver, her eyes are gleaming, and she is eyeing Dean calmly._

_ "Is this really your business?" he asks her coldly._

_ Ginny quirks her lip upward coquettishly. "Sure. Why not?"_

_ "Why are you here, anyway?" asks Dean warily. "You can't possibly need anything from the wizard. In fact, it looks to me as though you've got everything you could ever want."_

_ Ginny laughs. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here because your subconscious thinks I'm __**heartless. **__You certainly know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"_

_ Dean shrugs. "If it makes you feel any better, my subconscious obviously thinks I'm an idiot. Which I reckon is more or less accurate. If I had any brains, I'd be able to sort out what all this means."_

_ Ginny steps forward, touching a hand to his face. "Your brains were never the problem, Dean. It was me and my heart. My stupid heart that was never really mine to give in the first place. Not for years. Maybe one day we'll get to talk about this for real. When you w"-_

"-ake up!" shouts the voice. "Seamus, wake up."

It takes Dean a moment to gather himself. The first thing to register is the sound of Neville's voice: "Seamus! Seamus. It's just a dream, mate. Wake up."

Sure enough, when Dean turns he sees his best friend thrashing madly in his hammock, obviously in the throes of a nightmare. Dean's heart twists.

Neville is reaching across from his own hammock, gently shaking Seamus' shoulder. He catches Dean's eye and shrugs helplessly.

"I've been trying for the last five minutes. Any ideas?"

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but his words are cut off as a voice calls softly from below:  
_"Don't wake him."_

Both Dean and Neville cast their eyes downward to see Luna standing on the ground below them - a solitary, ephemeral figure. Her white nightgown appears ghostly and opalescent in the dim lighting and her long hair spills over her shoulders and down her back, giving the illusion of an elaborate veil.

_"Descendo,"_ she says quietly, with a slow, deliberate wand movement. The ladder attached to Seamus' hammock slowly unfurls until it reaches the floor.

"Luna, what"- Neville begins to whisper, but he is cut off abruptly by Seamus crying out.

She begins to climb the rope ladder.

"Luna," hisses Dean, "we have to wake him. These nightmares are no joke. Just because _you _don't have any"- This is perhaps a low blow, but Dean is annoyed. Girlfriend or not, he's not going to let her force-feed Seamus some weird concoction or let her tap-dance on his head or whatever other insane remedy she has in mind.

Luna has reached the top of the ladder. Neville and Dean exchange a worried glance.

"Just be still for a moment," she tells the boys, her face tranquil and undisturbed. Luna looks down at Seamus, who is still kicking and lashing out at the empty air around him. She takes one of her soft, slender hands and tugs down the blanket covering Seamus, leaving the entire upper half of his body bare. She then takes her hand and places it, palm facing down and fingers spread outward, on the center of Seamus' chest, along his breastbone.

Dean is so shocked that his brain can't seem to form words. Neville, next to him, seems similarly stunned by this turn of events. He is about to say something – he hardly knows what – when he _feels_ it. There is a quiet thrum of power emanating from Luna; a palpable, tangible sensation of it. He's felt it before, but only rarely. Two or three times from Harry, when he's performed powerful defensive magic. From Dumbledore, on a few memorable occasions. And now here again, with Luna.

She leans low over Seamus, until her mouth is near his ear, and whispers something that sounds like, _"Hay-duo-nair-os." _To Dean's utter shock,Seamus stills instantly. His arms and legs fall limp, all traces of distress disappear from his face, and his breathing becomes deep and even.

**Luna smiles at the results of her labor and slowly draws her hand from Seamus' chest. Where her hand had been, there is instead a word written in glowing blue script:** _ἡδυόνειρος. _ **The word lightens in color and then fades completely a few seconds later. **

Neville lets out his breath slowly. "What did you _do?"_ he asks, sounding both confused and a little awestruck.

Luna smiles. "A spell."

Neville rolls his eyes. "Thanks _ever _so."

"I'll tell you about it later if you really want to know."

"He's okay, though?" asks Dean. "He's not… like, in a trance or anything?"

"No. He's just sleeping." Luna looks as though an idea has just occurred to her. "I think I'll do that as well. I find I'm particularly susceptible to the effects of the Nose-Biting Nick-Ticks when I'm sleep-deprived."

Dean is fairly sleep-deprived himself. He is exhausted, grateful, confused, and probably other emotions he can't identify. But he remembers all too clearly the conversation they'd had on the bridge the other day.

So he suppresses the urge to roll his eyes and says instead: "What are Nose-Biting Nick-Ticks?" in as interested a tone as he can manage. "Will you tell me about them?"

And it is all worth it, as Luna gives him the most beatific, rapturous smile he has ever seen. Still standing at the top of the rope ladder, she stretches herself across to reach Dean's hammock. With one hand, she reaches up and pulls him down into a soft, lingering kiss.

"Not tonight I won't," she tells him seriously, after they break apart. "But that's the sweetest question anyone's ever asked me."

**0000**

** 0000**

Five minutes later, Dean is curled up in his hammock again, attempting to fall asleep. Fragments of the dream he'd had earlier were floating back to him and he couldn't help feeling as though there was something important there – a lesson to be learned or wisdom to be imparted. He is attempting to puzzle out the dream-exchange between himself and Hermione when:

"You awake, Dean?"

Dean lifts his head and sees Neville looking – not at Dean – but determinedly up at the ceiling, as if he were studying it for an exam.

"Sort of. Why?"

"I'm not in love with Luna," replies Neville, still staring straight up at the ceiling and pointedly ignoring Dean's surprised gaze.

"Er… _what_ now?"

"I've got something to say to you. It's to do with Luna so I thought I should preface it by telling you that I'm not in love with her - but that I love her. You know, like a sister."

Dean can't help smiling a bit at this awkward declaration. "Duly noted. Not in love with her. Go on, then."

"Luna's a special girl. I care about her very much. I really don't think it's possible to get to know Luna well and _not_ care about her. Whether or not anyone else sees it, I think the war has had an effect on her. It's changed her. Made her quieter, more vulnerable, even."

Dean reflects on this for a moment. "I didn't know her very well before the war. Not like you did. But I reckon you're probably right."

"She's got powerful friends," continues Neville. "Harry, for one. Not to mention Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. They're extremely dangerous wizards and witches. They all love her as much as I do and if anyone were ever to hurt her, I'd bet good money they'd be pretty upset."

Dean has a pretty good idea of where this is all headed.

"I see," he says solemnly. "Is that what you were trying to tell me? That they'll make my life miserable if I even so much as"-

"No." The reply is curt. "What I'm saying is this: If I ever – _ever _– find out that you've hurt her, those four will be the least of your problems." Neville turns now to face Dean. He stares straight into his eyes without blinking. "I may not be as powerful as Harry or as clever as Hermione, but trust me: I will make your life hell in ways you can't _imagine._ And those four will be waiting in line behind me, wands at the ready."

And just as abruptly as he'd turned to face him, Neville turned on his back and stared once more at the ceiling. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, during which Dean made a mental note to remind Luna that – should she ever decide to break it off with him – she should sign a document to the effect that it had been _her_ decision.

"Bloody hell, Neville," he says finally, with a shaky laugh. "I'll treat her well, okay? I swear."

Neville grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "…noneedtogetalldefensive…"

Five minutes later, it is Dean who speaks. "Hey, Nev?"

Neville yawns sleepily. "Yeah?"

Dean turns to look at him thoughtfully. "I don't think Luna's the only one who changed because of the war."

The statement hangs there, floating like one of the myriad hammocks in the room.

After an eternity, Dean hears Neville give a small sigh.

"Yeah," he says finally.

And in the silence of the room, they sleep.


	6. Interlude: Things We Lost In The War

Interlude –Things We Lost in the War

_ The smell of the wet summer grass. Her furtive glances toward the windows, one watchful eye trained on the Burrow at all times. The familiar 'snick' of the woodshed door as she opened it._

_ She had perfected the routine by now. For the past six years she had been sneaking down to the woodshed to borrow her brothers' brooms. She was careful not to use the same one too many times – if a broom was ridden too much, the wear and tear became noticeable. Tonight she emerged from the shed grasping Fred's Cleansweep in her hands. _

_ The thrill of kicking her feet off of the ground, of rising into the air. The swoop in her stomach as she pulled into a steep dive. The adrenaline rush as she flattened out six feet from the ground and banked sharply left. _

_ Ginny had a dream, you see. Ginny wanted to be the best Chaser Hogwarts had ever seen. It wasn't a ridiculous dream either. She had talent. She had guts. She had the focus, the drive, and the determination._

_ When she was younger, her brothers would never let her ride their brooms. She's old enough now that they probably would, but that is no longer an issue for Ginny. She's keeping her flying skills a complete secret for one purpose:_

_ To shock them senseless. She could picture it – her tryout. Her brothers gaping in awe as she left the competition in the dust. Harry Potter beaming in admiration and surprise as she outflew every last person. Her House's exhilaration when Ginny helped lead her team to victory. She would not settle for second best. That was just not part of the dream. As she flew higher and higher still, her confidence radiated to every pore of her being. It was going to be great being __**first.**_

_**0000**_

_**0000**_

_**0000**_

Formally they are referred to as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Less often they are called Harry, _Hermione_, Ron, and Ginny. But Harry is always first, because he is Harry. And Ginny is always last, because that is simply the way things are.

Amongst family and friends it is worse. There are a thousand variations on the same theme:

"Oi, you lot! And Ginny! Do you want to play four-a-side Quidditch?"

"Neville, would you go ask them if they want any butterbeer? And ask Ginny, too."

"No, Lee, they won't want to go to the concert. Ginny might, though; ask her."

Do_ they _want… Ask_ them _if we should… Are _they_ in the courtyard? As if there is only one opinion between the three of them. As if they only physically travel as a unit.

The worst part? How true it feels.

It is not that Ginny has harbored any illusions of seamlessly fitting into their lives; of instantly turning the Golden Trio into the Gryffindor Four. She has always, however, thought that it would be less apparent that she is an outsider.

After all, Ron is her brother. Harry is her boyfriend; the love of her young life. Hermione is one of her closest girl friends. Why should she be considered an afterthought?

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

Even with the chaos of Operation Reparo – even with Ron monitoring them closely and glaring disapprovingly - Harry and Ginny have been able to spend a decent amount of time alone together. She thinks this is mostly due to Hermione, who _initially_ tried lecturing Ron on the importance of letting Ginny make her own decisions - but quickly gave up and settled for distracting Ron by snogging him senseless whenever Ginny and Harry go off by themselves, a strategy which has proven much more enjoyable for all parties involved.

They have been taking things fairly slowly; but even so, at this point she can confirm that Harry definitely does _not_ have a Hippogryff tattooed on his chest – but he _does_ have a galleon-sized red phoenix tattoed on the back of his left shoulder.

She is entranced, gently tracing her fingers along it, running her lips against the skin. "When did you get this?"

Harry's shoulders palpably tense. "Shortly after. It was just something I did. Most of the things I do involve me trying to… forget… but in this one weird way, I wanted to make myself remember."

"Oh."

Harry's tone is not on that invited further questioning, so she drops it. However, last night it had been hot enough that even modest Hermione had shed her thin summer robes and eaten dinner wearing denim Bermuda shorts and a tank top. And as Ginny had walked over to their table to sit next to Harry, she had seen it: an identical red phoenix on Hermione's shoulder. Her stomach had knotted.

She knows without needing to ask that Ron has one, too. She can't help it: It _stings. _The fact that they have done this together – recently – and that none of them asked her if she wanted in or even TOLD her about it, for Merlin's sake.

Ginny brings it up to Harry in what she sincerely hopes is a casual tone: "I saw Hermione's tattoo. I can't believe you and Ron talked her into it."

Harry appears vaguely surprised. "Oh. Actually, it was her idea."

Ginny is astonished. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Just – out of the blue? She suggested it?"

Harry frowns, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Uh… well, it was when you were visiting your Auntie Muriel with your mum. We were just talking about, you know, a lot of stuff that we hadn't been able to talk about." _Because I was always there_, she thinks. _That's what you really mean. You couldn't talk about these things because I was always there. "_So anyway, Ron went out and bought some Firewhiskey and the three of us got – pretty pissed, actually. And we just felt like we wanted to do something… sort of extreme, you know? Something permanent. To commemorate everything that had happened. So Hermione said the three of us should get tattoos and Ron and I thought it sounded good – and we did. We went to a place in muggle London and had them done. And afterward, Hermione enchanted them with a few protective spells and then a Modified Empathy Charm."

"A what?"

Harry smiles thinly. "Yeah, I didn't know what they were before, either. Basically it sort of connects us to each other...telepathically. A little."

The bottom of Ginny's stomach drops out. "What do you mean by 'It connects you telepathically – _a little?_'"

Harry blushes. "Okay, yeah, this is why I didn't mention it before. Seriously, it's nothing. It's not like we can read other's minds or anything."

_No more than you already could, anyway_, thinks Ginny. "But you can read each other's… emotions?" she asks with a sense of dawning dismay.

"Umm… in a way," he says cautiously. "Like – right now I'm not feeling anything. The vast majority of the time I don't. If I reeaaaallly try, if I put a lot of effort into it, I can feel a little bit of what one or both of them is feeling. But it's draining, not to mention intrusive, so I don't ever bother. But if one of us WANTS the others to know what we're feeling, we can kind of send a signal. No matter how far away we are. So if I wanted to let them know I was scared or pleased or excited, or that there's a problem or an emergency, I could do it easily and they'd know straight away."

Ginny is silent. She toys absently with her wand, tapping it lightly into her palm, fearful of saying _anything_ lest she say everything – and drive him away in the bargain.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," says Harry. "And I – I reckon I should have asked you first. What you thought about it. Or if you wanted to get one. You still could, you know?" Ginny shoots him a dark look and Harry grimaces. "Yeah, I know, I know. I just thought I'd ask."

He takes her hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it lightly.

` "It's fine," she says finally. "You've had enough to worry about lately, Harry."

She leans in; pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his mouth. She pretends that she is the first girl to have ever done this and the pretense soothes the ache inside her slightly.

"I love you," she tells him, and she means it more than she has ever meant anything in her short life. His lips quirk upward against hers, and he pulls away from her.

"You know you're only the second girl to ever tell me that?" he said, still grinning. "It's brilliant, hearing you say those words."

Once again, her heart sinks. "Second." It is not a question.

Harry doesn't notice her disappointment. "Hermione was the first, of course, but she just meant it as a friend. When I said it back to her, I think it was the first time I _ever _said"-

_Shut up_, she thinks angrily. She kisses him again; to make him.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

A week later, Ginny wakes up in her hammock early in the morning while everyone else is still asleep. She wonders if she should try and get back to sleep or if it's late enough that she should wake up and enjoy having the showers to herself for a change. She won't get a watch until her seventeenth birthday - which is in three weeks – so she simply summons the nearest clock. The nearest clock is on Harry's nightstand.

"_Accio_," she whispers. It zooms into her hand. "_Lumos._" Her wand lights, and her eyes study the dials. At first she thinks she is simply too tired to focus, that her brain is too jumbled to make sense of the numbers. It takes her a moment to realize.

It is the clock that sits in the Weasley's kitchen. Except it is not. Ginny blinks again. There, on the center of the clock face, are scripted three sets of initials: HJP, RBW, and HJG. Three dials (Gold, Red, and Orange) emanate from the center, each pointing to one word: _Sleeping._ There are words around the edge of the clock. In gold script (Harry's dial is gold) is written: _Grimmauld Place, Sleeping, Traveling._ In red script (Ron's) is written: _The Burrow, Quidditch_, and (Ginny has to smile) _Carousing._ In orange, there are three words_: The Granger House, the Ministry_, and (of course) _Library._

_ The Ministry?_ thinks Ginny. She supposes Hermione has accepted that position in Magical Law Enforcement after all. She stares down at the clock for a good long while. She feels a peculiar stinging sensation between her eyes that reminds her of Fred's funeral. She hadn't cried – but it had been just as bad, maybe even worse, being on the verge of it the entire day. She had needed to be strong for her parents; for her mother especially who had fainted as soon as the service had begun and for George, who had rushed forward and tried to hex the minister as he'd closed the casket lid for the final time. When they had begun lowering the casket into the ground, George had tried to jump in as well. He'd eventually needed to be restrained and sedated.

The constant pricking sensation she is feeling now reminds her of that day. It actually helps put her problems in perspective. There has been so much grief; so much loss. Here she is, _worrying _because her boyfriend cares deeply for his friends. As though that's a problem that needs to be fixed. As quietly as she can, she returns the clock to Harry's nightstand, lies back down, and attempts to get back to bed. Unsurprisingly, sleep eludes her.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

Despite Ginny's best efforts not to let these small and silly things bother her, the inevitable explosion occurs a few days later when Hermione remarks to Harry and Ron within earshot of Ginny: "and of course we'll have to add 'our flat' to our clocks."

Ron laughs. "You want to label it 'our flat?' Why don't we give it a name, like The Burrow? We can call it…" he chances a glance at Harry. "Hero House?"

Harry glares at him. "Sorry, mate. We can call it Won-Won's House if you like."

Ron blushes.

Hermione clears her throat. "Actually, I had been thinking that we would just label it as…_'home.'_

The three of them stop walking and stare at each other wonderingly. Harry smiles first, followed by Ron and Hermione. "Yeah," says Harry. "Yeah, I reckon that sounds about right."

Ginny hasn't spoken. The pounding in her ears would drown out anything she has to say. She waits until she and Harry are alone. Then she unleashes.

"You're moving IN with them?" she shrieks. "The three of you are getting a flat together?"

Harry looks shocked. "Well, yeah. I mean, your mum isn't very pleased, but we've all got job offers and everything, so... I mean, you've still got another year of school left and – and we'll be in Hogsmeade. So you'll be able to see us when you lot come visit it on weekends."

Ginny can't see straight. "You're going flat-hunting in Hogsmeade," she states.

"Er, well, no," Harry says nervously. "We've – I mean, we've sort of already gone flat-hunting. We signed the lease a few weeks ago. It's – it's really cool. I think you'll like it."

There is silence for a full thirty seconds. _"Excuse me?" _she says finally. "You – you did this without letting me know – without asking – telling – HINTING – that you might be even THINKING about it. Just – just who the hell do you think you are?"

Harry looks taken aback. "What are you going on about? I'm telling you now, aren't I?

"No. No, the _only_ reason I know is because I overheard Hermione talking about it. You didn't say a word and you weren't planning to, either."

"Look, Gin, I WAS planning on telling you. I just sort of forgot. It wasn't really on my mind. I wasn't keeping it from you or anything, I swear."

She doesn't trust herself to say anything.

"Ginny?" he presses. "Do you believe me?"

She laughs bitterly. "Do I believe you? Yes. Yes, I really do."

"Okaaay," he says uncertainly. "So what's the problem?"

She shuts her eyes angrily. "The problem is that I believe you. If you'd been lying to me, that would be one thing. At least I'd rate high enough in your thoughts that you'd be worried about my reaction. But the fact is that you couldn't even lie to me. You just… forgot to tell me. Just didn't think I was important enough. You care about them so much more than me, Harry. You always put them first. Look me in the eye and tell me that's NOT true."

When she finally opens her eyes, it is to find a pair of angry green eyes staring right into hers. "Of course it's true," he says flatly. "Of course I always put them first. For seven years they've put me first; they've_ literally _kept me from dying more times than I can count. And you know what? In order to do it, they've had to put their petty little problems and hang-ups and insecurities on hold. Which is apparently more than you're capable of."

He may as well have slapped her in the face. She opens her mouth to say something – she has no idea what – but Harry isn't done. And the expression on Harry's face, _her_ beloved Harry's face, is actually such that he's giving Draco Malfoy a run for his money right now. A mocking smile is on his face as his green eyes give off sparks:

"You want me to lie to you, Gin? Sure, I'll lie to you: Gee, I'm _great _at this relationship stuff. After all, I've always grown up watching my mum and dad be tender and romantic toward each other so it should be easy for me. And I'm great at communicating; no - I really mean it! I'm always open and honest and forthright. The adults in my life have always been open and honest with me; they've never hidden secrets from me or manipulated me into doing what they wanted, so I've never had to resort to lying to get what_ I_ wanted. And since we've been so close to each other for so long, Ginny – since I've never, ever thought of you as a younger sister who needs to be protected and coddled - my very, very **first** instinct when I'm hurt or scared will _always _be to run to _you. "_

And with that, Harry suddenly and violently kicks the courtyard statuette next to him. It topples and shatters as it hits the hard flagstone. "Dammit, Ginny, we _all_ lost things in the war! Not just you. Maybe I've lost my chance to have a normal relationship with anyone. Or maybe we've just lost our chance with each other. I don't know. Or maybe we just need more time."

He looks upset, more with himself than with her now. He shakes his head in frustration and, without a word, heads back into the Entrance Hall.

Ginny kneels down on the flagstone and points her wand at the broken statuette. "_Reparo_," she says quietly. She watches as the pieces fly back together and coalesce. She stares at it for a moment. It looks whole now. It looks worse than it did before it had broken, but you'd have to be looking for the flaws to find them. She thinks maybe the average person wouldn't notice.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

A week later, she and Harry are lying naked in each other's arms outside on a blanket under the moonlight, basking in their mutual afterglow. Harry has apologized twice a day every day for his outburst and by this point Ginny has stopped forgiving him and started simply rolling her eyes.

Harry breaks their companionable silence first. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," she says.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

The million-galleon question. "I'm okay," she says simply. "Really. It was wonderful."

He lightly skims his fingers through her hair, over her face, swirls them down her torso, and traces the contours of her breasts.

"It was worth it," he says meditatively. "Waiting. For me, anyway. I hope for you, too. Doing that with each other… first."

She smiles and kisses him. "What we just did is worth everything to me," she says, her eyes spelling out her love for him. She nestles into the crook of his arms, sighing contentedly. His happiness is tangible, and the vulnerability he displayed during that last declaration makes her feel all the more protective of him. Protective enough to hide from him the truth:

That he is not her first. That her virginity is simply one of the _many _things Ginny has lost in the war.


End file.
